Birthday Wishes
by YouCantGetThereFromHere
Summary: Set before Dead Man's Chest. James and Charles Norrington, two estranged brothers, share a birthday on opposite sides of the world and wonder about each other’s fortune.


Disclaimer/Notes: This was co-written with Oakenshield. We make no claim to any of the characters or events of "Pirates of the Caribbean", and we are certainly making no profit from this. But Charles Norrington and his wife are ours! glomps them I created Charles, and we created Molly together.

Birthday Wishes

It was a fine day for turning thirty, Charles thought, as he stood upon the balcony, leaning with his elbows against the rail and looking over the gardens. A powdery layer of frost was settling on the ground and the stars were bright in the sky. He loved these sorts of evenings, despite the cold. Such nights reminded him of his childhood, when he and his twin brother had stood upon the doorstep, looking at the sky as if their will alone could bring the clouds over to make snow fall at Christmas. That was before things had become so awful between them, of course. They had not been friends since they had turned twelve. Charles didn't have the faintest idea why he was missing those childish moments now, when he had seldom thought on them before. It had all been such a waste.

The sound of the party arranged by his wife raged inside the house, and it pulled him back to the present. She had invited everyone they knew (and some others that they didn't) and the rambling noise of animated chatter escaped from every window, threatening to drown out the failing sound of piano and strings. A superbly rich dinner had been served, followed by an even richer dessert, and as much as he was enjoying himself, Charles had to have a moment to be alone with his indigestion. He had been quite prepared for a large party, Molly always went mad for such occasions, and this time she had certainly outdone herself, but that was why he loved her. She was the most darling woman in the world, she had been his best friend for nine years and she had saved him from despair when he had been at his lowest ebb.

He liked to think that they had saved each other. He had rescued Molly from loneliness and a man who had caused her much grief, and her inheritance had saved him from a half-paid position in a naval office that was as much of an insult to him as it was an embarrassment. Her fortune was far down on the list of reasons for marrying her though, there was just something so very lovely about her that even one without a preference for women could not help but love.

Their marriage was far from conventional, but it worked for them that way. Molly had always known of his ways and he of hers. She had various male lovers and so did Charles. They shared their secrets even though they didn't share a bed. They had only shared a bed for one night of their marriage seven years ago, a night that had given them a son who Charles could not have loved more for all the world. Two years before, another baby boy had come into their lives, not by Charles, but he raised him as his own, and loved him as his own.

His life might not have been "normal" in most people's eyes, and his poor, dear mother would have probably dropped dead on the spot if she had known what went on behind the closed doors of their house, but it could not have been better for Charles. He had a family that was stable, a life of pleasure, and a wife and best friend who could not have been more wonderful. She was the only woman amongst a rather small group of male friends that he could be honest with. He had never had to hide his true self from her, though he hid it from the rest of his family. His parents would never have accepted it. He shuddered to think of the names his father would have called him, had he known. His father had only ever loved the person he thought Charles was, the person he thought he could make him be. He would have hated the person he was in reality, Charles knew, and that hurt. James had always been so jealous of him for having their father's favour, but he'd actually had no reason to be. It had all been built on lies and secrets.

"Now, what could the man of the occasion be doing lurking out here when the party is inside?"

Charles smiled as he sensed Molly's presence behind him, the strong smell of her perfume, the sound of her shoes upon the stone, and he turned to look at her. She had bought a new dress for the occasion, and her auburn curls were bound up tightly at the back of her head. She looked lovely. She might not have been the prettiest woman in the world, a little too tall and not the fairest of face, but she carried herself with poise and grace and seemed to shine in a crowd. Charles was always proud to introduce her as his wife at social events.

"Something on your mind, Charlie?" She came to stand at his side, and slipped an arm around his waist. She was about the only person in the world who got away with calling him that, even his mother had stopped calling him 'Charlie' once he had grown up. "That isn't a very good birthday-party-face, my darling."

"I was just thinking that this night should not be only for me," he replied, leaning into her a little. "It isn't only for me," he sighed. He could never speak that frankly with anyone apart from Molly. He had too much pride to be so conceding about memories of his brother. It hadn't been all their fault that they had come to loathe each other so much, their father had bred the hatred between them, and fuelled it. Charles certainly hadn't been alone in making James resentful of his success in their youth. The more he thought about their father these days, the more he realised that the man he had adored so much had actually been quite the idiot. "I wonder sometimes if I should write to James, but I don't expect he would read it, or reply."

It had been almost a decade since he had last seen his twin. They had not been in contact since James had left for Port Royal. They last seen each other just before the battle that had brought success for one of them, and near-death for the other. James had not come to him to say goodbye before he had left. Would they even know each other anymore? Charles had so many secrets about his life, and James had always been very prudish. If James were here, the chances were they would be quarrelling just as they always had, even though they had no reason to anymore.

"He's still your brother, and always has been." Molly squeezed him firmly. She always said that, and it always annoyed Charles, but she was right. "Now don't think about James, he's probably having a party of his own somewhere by the sea. Come inside, they're about to bring in that cake that you're not supposed to know about. "

More food! He could hardly stand the thought of it. He had been forewarned about this, at least. "What cake?" he joked, accepting the glass of champagne that she put into his hand. This really was not a time for melancholy thoughts. Never mind James, he had a party to attend, and Molly had gone to a great amount of effort to ensure it was as perfect as possible. What use was there in lamenting the past and the lost chances? Their father had always done that and it had turned him in a bitter man. This was a night to enjoy, not to stare at the sky with bleak and pointless thoughts.

Now to get back inside. It could prove a little challenging, judging from the fact that he felt more than a little tipsy by now. Oh, blast that leg! Or rather, the lack of it. It was less of a cause for ill feeling than a damn nuisance these days.

He shifted to reach for the crutch he had left leaning against the railing at his side and cursed as it slipped from his hand and on to the floor, causing him to stumble and catch himself against the rail before he followed it to the ground. No matter how many times this happened, it never got less embarrassing. He always laughed about it, and so did his friends - after all, what use was there in being stupidly depressed about something he could not change? he had stopped that years ago - but it still made him cringe to not be able to do something that anyone would take for granted. He had taken it for granted himself for twenty-one years of his life.

"Oh Charlie!" Molly giggled and stooped to pick it up, ever the distraction, ever the angel. "You haven't even had that much to drink yet, and already you're falling over!"

He laughed and took the crutch from her and put it under his arm. "I was born clumsy." The chances were, he would probably end up on his backside before the evening was out, might as well laugh about it now. Was James running around somewhere? Or dancing? Or just standing without the aid of an arm or a crutch? He might not have had the respect of one parent all his life, but at least he had both legs, at least he didn't get treated like a poor cripple by pious strangers.

"Come inside," Molly urged as she made sure he was stable again.

"I'll be there in a moment," he told her and she left him after pressing a kiss to his temple. She never would have dreamed of coddling him.

Charles sighed and looked out to the sky. Turning thirty seemed to be quite a landmark really, and it had given him a lot of food for thought. He should have done so much more by now, and surely would have if he hadn't lost his leg.

He didn't entirely know what James was doing now, but he knew he'd had great success. His name had been in the papers for the capture and prosecution of many pirates in the Caribbean. He had been made Commodore just last year, so Charles had been told by their mother, and had found a young lady that he wished to marry. That had been many months ago, though, and no word had come from him since. It made Charles worry, and he didn't know why. Surely if James had married the girl then he would have written to tell their mother about it. If anything bad had happened to James, then they surely would have heard. No, nothing had happened to him; Charles felt that he would know if it had. Perhaps the post was just particularly slow of late.

He had to admit that he had been a little bitter when the news of James' promotion had come, though James deserved such a career better than he did, he had always wanted promotion so badly. Charles would have been 'Commodore Norrington' by now if the circumstances had been different, he had always been one step ahead of James.

It was stupid to feel resentful, he kept telling himself. He wouldn't want to be in the Royal Navy now, he enjoyed his life too much. Everything he had done in his naval career had been done for his father, and now he was dead there was no point in thinking like that. His life could have been a lot worse. He was very lucky to be alive, and it was only due to the quick wits of a talented surgeon that he had not bled to death that day. At the time, he had often declared that he would have rather died, but he had been shown that he could live again. God bless Molly, she deserved to be made a saint.

Where was James now, he wondered. Was he enjoying a party such as this, with the Governor himself and a great amount of friends and colleagues. Charles hoped so. James deserved all the success and love in the world, and he had always had very little of either. It made Charles shudder to think about it. He missed him, though he had never really known him. He wanted to know him.

"Happy birthday, Jamie," he whispered, raising his glass to the sky in the south. Perhaps their next birthday could be spent together, or least in friendship.

---------

Despite the time of the year, it was warm where James sat by the sea. Even after eight years of living in the Caribbean, the warmth of December evenings there still surprised him if he thought about it. It had never felt altogether right to him, though he had of course got used to it.

It was going to be a clear night, by the look of it. The Caribbean sky was unobstructed by even the slightest cloud. The sun was hanging low in the sky, turning the colour of the water to wine, and the first stars of the evening were beginning to appear. He sat alone, watching the horizon, gladly allowing the skyline to flicker in his failing sight. He was drunk, he knew, and the light of the sun hurt his eyes, still he took another drink from his rum bottle. Things were still too loud.

Behind him, the brawl at the tavern he had left was still in full course. Nobody would think to bother him now, nobody would remember. He hardly could remember what had just happened. Another night, another drink, another tavern, another fight. This was how he lived now. Days were spent wallowing in the effects of the previous night's excesses. Some mornings he woke up with a woman beside him, but he never remembered her name. He never cared to ask. In his mind, her name was always Elizabeth.

The name on his lips should have been Elizabeth. They might have been married by now. Instead, she was probably about to become Mrs Turner. If only it hadn't been for Jack Sparrow! He had ruined everything! If it hadn't been for the damn Black Pearl then James never would have lost Elizabeth, Will never would have felt the need to prove himself as Port Royal's hero, Elizabeth would never have... Never have what? Never have realised the truth in her own heart? James couldn't have asked her to lie to herself, lying to him was bad enough. Will was young and handsome, with a touch of danger and recklessness. She had always longed for that. He had watched her grow up, dreaming of it. He could never have been what she wanted. He would have been a financially sound match for her, but nothing more. It would have been like keeping a rare bird in a gilded cage, fed and groomed and cleaned daily, but never let free. Besides, her marriage to him depended wholly on his success, and that was gone now. He didn't deserve her. He should have been content being her friend and elder brother. He had been so stupid to think that she might have returned his feelings.

He couldn't help but think that if it hadn't been for Jack, Elizabeth never would have come to such conclusions. But those were the thoughts of a hopeful fool, and he had no hope left now. Jack had stolen everything. First his ship, then his chances, the lives of his crew, his respect, Elizabeth, the admiration of Will, then finally his job, his home, his life, his friends.

Right now he should have been with all friends that he had once had. It was his birthday, and he had completely forgotten about it until he had caught the date among a drunken old man's ramblings earlier. It would be Christmas in two days. He would spend that alone too. His purse felt too light to afford a whore, he thought with a forced snicker at himself. He was such a wreck.

It was his thirtieth birthday. He had always thought that by the time he was thirty, he would have felt slightly too old, as he had filled a position in the navy for which he was far too young. Men didn't usually make commodore at twenty-nine, rather nearer forty, and there had been captains older than him, who had been in service for longer than him that could have been given the position. They probably would not have failed as he had. He had never felt ready for it, it had always terrified him, though he had felt compelled to take the risk. Since arriving in Port Royal, he had always found that he had been slightly younger than officers beneath him, and he had often felt that they resented him for it. He wished he could say that it was due to his talent, or his courage in action, but it was surely just because he had filled the position of the son that the governor had never had.

He had always tried not to think of it that way. He had known Governor Swann for several years, he had been a friend of James' father, and it was thanks to him that he had obtained the position in Port Royal. The governor had given James the chance to finally prove himself, after his twin brother had been injured in battle, and put out of action by a cannonball that had blown off his left leg. James had been in the same battle and it had earned him a promotion, then the chance to leave for Port Royal had come up. He hadn't even said goodbye to his brother; he had just left to seek his own glory. He regretted it now.

Charles had always been their father's favourite. Nearly identical to James himself but older by all of six minutes, Charles was the firstborn and favoured in every way. He had been named after the king that their father had served, while James had been named after the successor to the throne that their father did not believe in. Charles' middle name was Edward, after their father, while James was given the name of his maternal grandfather for a middle name. Their father had always adored Charles and little time had been left for James. Any love and encouragement he had received had come from their mother - a repressed woman devoted to her husband despite the unfair treatment of their twin sons, and although he loved his mother dearly, James had ever sought to gain his father's respect.

He could vaguely remember a time when he and Charles had not hated each other. He could remember that they had shared a room as small children, and played together, and studied together. Charles had always helped him with Latin. They had played on the common together. They had built snowmen in winter.

Nothing had ever been ill between them until they had joined the navy at the age of twelve. Their mother had not wanted them to go, but their father, being a retired naval captain himself, had insisted that they join at the earliest possible age, to give them better chances of promotion. James had not wanted to go, he had cried against his mother on the day they had left, and that had been the first time he had seen disappointment in his father's eyes.

From then on, Charles had ever been the first to be promoted, with James' promotion always following a few months after. It had always seemed to be understood that James had only received promotion because of his brother's achievements, and every time they had returned home, their father would have a gift for Charles. James had never forgotten the silver pocket watch Charles had received when he had made third lieutenant; he had never forgotten his dear mother heartening him, telling him that he too would get one soon. That had been the last gift Charles had received.

If only their father had known how much they had fought and squabbled for recognition and achievement during the odd times that they had served on the same ships. The fact that they had been put to the masthead by their very first captain had been a fact that neither of them had cared to take home. It was strange how quickly the rivalry had begun; after barely a month at sea, they had gone from being friends to hating each other, and James now saw that it was not the fault of either of them, but of their father.

He still resented Charles, he couldn't help it. He knew that right now, Charles would be happy and content somewhere, despite the missing leg. He always landed on his feet. Ironic, really.

James forced down more rum, although he hated the taste. He had never liked it, but it dulled his mind. At least for now he was contemplating the past, rather than the entirely less bearable present.

He had been sure that upon travelling to the Caribbean and gradually rising further up in his career, he would finally prove himself worthy of their father's love. Instead, as far as he could tell from letters, their father had always, until his death, thought he should have been maimed in Charles' place, that Charles had better deserved the career James now had. Or rather, once had. The career he had ruined, he thought with a wry smile. He could almost feel the ground shaking, all the way from England, as his father turned in his grave.

It had been so disheartening to know, that even as a commodore at twenty-nine, he could still not make his father proud. For so many years, he had waited for his pocket watch to arrive in a parcel but it had never come. He had nothing to prove to anybody now.

James lay back in the sand and shut his eyes, and the world turned along with his stomach. Charles would never have been like this now. Charles would not have been sitting on a beach in Tortuga, drunk on rum and still wearing a tattered uniform that was barely recognizable, unwashed for weeks. Charles would not have allowed a woman to break his heart; he probably would have charmed his way into her affection, as was his way. Charles would never have run from the consequences of his mistakes. Charles deserved to be Commodore Norrington in his place.

How things had in fact turned out for Charles, James couldn't tell. Their mother's letters had told him that Charles had married a wealthy woman and they had two sons. James had rarely answered. He had wanted to leave his life in England behind. He had not written to his mother in a year, and he did not think to. It would be too humiliating, too hurtful to her. It was better to disappear and let her think that he might have been honourably lost in a battle or a storm.

Nothing mattered anymore, he thought, as he sat up to watch a ship sailing into the bay. Most likely it was a pirate ship, one that Commodore Norrington would have chased and caught a year ago. It hardly mattered now. He had lost everything, his commission, his reputation, his life, his heart. At twenty-nine he had been at the top of the Royal Navy, and at thirty he was no better than the pirate he had set out to kill, or any other creature on this island. He wasn't even James Norrington anymore. He was no one, he was nothing.

This was what he had achieved in the end, this is what he had to show for it - a beach and a bottle of rum - and he felt his father had been right. Even so, he should not have hated Charles, and he didn't even feel like he did anymore.

He lifted his bottle to the sky. It probably wasn't even the right direction for England, he was too drunk to tell and certainly too drunk to care. He brought the bottle to his lips, drank and shivered. He wished for his brother to spend this night in luxury, among friends, in the arms of his wife. He would have given a lot for his company. He would have given a lot to be in England with him, wishing for Christmas snow as they had as children. He wished that they could know each other again, and laugh about the stupid quarrels they had had, but as things stood, James didn't expect that they would ever see each other again.

"Happy birthday, Charles," he murmured. "May your fortunes be better than mine."


End file.
